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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199852">Irises</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/witnessfortheprosecution/pseuds/witnessfortheprosecution'>witnessfortheprosecution</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, And hates impressionists, Anxiety, College, First Meetings, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Insomnia, M/M, Right now, Virgil is Bad at Self-Care, and is very tired, this might be my current situation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:49:01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,520</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24199852</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/witnessfortheprosecution/pseuds/witnessfortheprosecution</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Virgil knows exactly 3 things:<br/>1. He is stressed about finals more than a normal person would<br/>2. Impressionists are the worst<br/>3. The barista at this new coffee shop has the prettiest eyes</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman "Princey" Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>127</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Irises</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I don't know why I wrote this when I literally have not slept in 36 hours and have a final essay due I should have been working on instead... Oh well, this is probably longer than that. If you cannot tell, I am a bit delirious right now.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Virgil tugged off his earbuds as he walked into <em> Monet’s </em>, an unfamiliar coffee house and a new experience for Virgil. Virgil hated new experiences. The smell of vanilla filled his senses as he walked in a dream-like state to the counter (standing a little bit away to let the employees know he wasn’t ready), rubbing his eyes from exhaustion, getting his fix here because he did not have the energy to go out and buy more grounds. He knew that it was most likely extremely unhealthy for him to have only consumed Takis, coffee, and Adderall the past couple days, but it was finals week, which meant it was crunch time. </p>
<p>Virgil tells people he is a bit more anxious than most people, and by a bit, he means a fuckton. So, of course, finals week has him questioning everything in his life, from his study methods to his career path. Virgil is a smart guy, so he doesn’t actually have anything to worry about, as long as he studies, right? Wrong. As a fine arts major, not all of his classes are just knowing that the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell, you have to apply the skills you learned into a creative piece, and while Virgil is a talented artist, he was always second guessing everything he created. Which is why, in the 11th hour, Virgil decided he hated the medium he was working in, completely scrapped it, and had 48 hours to create 3 completely new “transformative” pieces. Sleep was not an option until it had to be. Which, it seemed it had been, when he fell asleep on the bus after class, missing his apartment by 11 stops. Coffee seemed necessary at this point. </p>
<p>Pulling his hoodie off his head, smoothing out his hair, he looked at the pretty standard local coffee shop menu with some lunch items as well, and just looking at those made his stomach grumble. </p>
<p>“Suppose you cannot create on an empty stomach.” Virgil thought. “And while I’m here…”</p>
<p> As he was reading, he noticed each combo had a quirky name relating to Monet’s works. Berry spring salad with bagel was <em> Luncheon on the Grass, </em> sesame soba was <em> The Japanese Footbridge…. </em></p>
<p>“Give me a break…” Virgil muttered, before finally deciding on what to get. The shop was completely empty, so Virgil didn’t feel too bad about taking his time, though he did feel a bit nervous looking like a mess in front of the handsome barista. </p>
<p>His olive colored skin tone with black wavy hair made Virgil feel a bit woozy, but he became dazed when he looked into his beautiful emerald eyes, almost forgetting why he was there, until he asked, “What can I do for ya, man?” </p>
<p>“Uh, yea, can I get the tomato soup and grilled cheese with a medium espresso frappuccino,” He looked around the empty store, “For here, I guess,”</p>
<p>The barista turned around and looked at the two other employees behind him, one on their phone and one inspecting their nails absentmindedly, “Does anyone want to make a frap?” </p>
<p>They both looked up and looked at each other before turning back to the one taking Virgil’s order. The one with a large scar on the left side of his face put his thumb down while the other one who looked very similar to his cashier blew a raspberry, shaking his head. The handsome cashier turned back to Virgil, and shrugged, “Sorry, gonna have to pick something else, no one want to make it,” </p>
<p>Virgil sighed, rubbing his eyes, “Okay, whatever, is an iced flat white with some espresso okay?”</p>
<p>The three looked at each other then back at Virgil, before the cashier said, “Dude… It was a joke,” </p>
<p>“Yea man,” The barista with a scar said, “We can’t just say no to what you order,” </p>
<p>“What kind of business would that be?” The third one piped up. </p>
<p>“Are you okay?” The barista, Virgil looked at his nametag, Roman, asked. </p>
<p>Virgil merely sighed, “I’m kind of going through it,” </p>
<p>Virgil pulled out his card, but Roman put his hand up. “On the house,” Normally Virgil would protest, despite the cheesy food names it was still a local business,  but being so stressed and depressed he honestly could bring himself to care. He choked out a thanks and sat down by a window, leaning his temple against the it, cool condensation comforting and making him a bit more awake. </p>
<p>His food and his coffee eventually arrived, Virgil thanked Roman, who then proceeded to sit down across from him, elbows on the table and hands folded. </p>
<p>“Can I help you?” Virgil asked, probably being harsher than intended, it was just his natural speaking voice. </p>
<p>“Probably not, I wanna see if I can help you,” Roman shrugged. </p>
<p>Virgil frowned, “Help me?” </p>
<p>“I have been told I am good company and good at advice, and you, Brad Pitt-iful, seems like you are falling apart at the seams,” </p>
<p>Virgil chuckled dryly, “Trust me, I hardly think you are qualified to handle hearing about all my problems,” </p>
<p>Roman sat up straighter, looking into Virgil’s brown eyes against his gorgeous green, “I work as a barista by day with a bunch of dysfunctional idiots and I am a bartender at night, there is nothing I haven’t seen before, I am probably more qualified than some therapists”  He crossed his arms and cocked his eyebrow, “Try me,” </p>
<p>Virgil, intrigued, took the bait, and spilled. He talked about his anxiety, the insomnia, the fear of failure, the days where he debates dropping out, his nerves going into overdrive everytime he thinks about what he is going to, how he abandoned his final project, how he has to start on a new one- essentially everything that has been swirling in Virgil’s mind the past semester. </p>
<p>“Hmm, okay, so you are pulling all nighters to finish all your work, and you only had one piece to do before you were completely finished with your final, and you then decided it looked all wrong and scrapped it?” Roman recapped and Virgil nodded, “Might I give you a suggestion?” </p>
<p>“You can try,”</p>
<p>“When you get home, go to sleep. Sleep for at least 9 hours, in a row, look at your old project again, and see how you feel,” Roman shrugged, “Maybe with a clear head you will feel differently about your project, maybe even get some inspiration,” </p>
<p>Virgil gripped the bridge of his nose, “Roman, I do not have the time to sleep for a full 9 hours, that is ridiculous, I have to do so many projects,” </p>
<p>“You’ll have one less to start from square one in if you end up actually liking what you did,” </p>
<p>“It is a nice thought, I appreciate it, but I probably won’t be able anyways, not after the coffee,” Virgil took another sip, as to prove his point, but Roman just smirked. </p>
<p>“That’s actually just a frozen hot chocolate with coffee flavoring in it,” </p>
<p>Virgil eyes flew open wide, “Really?” He stared at his drink for a bit before looking at Roman, “They taste exactly the same, I cannot believe I let you fool me like that,” </p>
<p>“Janus, Remus, and I made an executive decision, you do not look good,” Roman frowned, concerned, most likely looking at his swallowed out skin and circle under his eyes. </p>
<p>“Well-” Virgil half-chuckled, “Not a lot of people look good compared to you,” Virgil would later wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat because of his flippant flirting that he never engages in, but for now he doesn’t care. </p>
<p>“Charmed.” Roman said, a fond smile present on his face, “I am sure you are a catch as well, when you don’t look like a skeleton” The door opened and a gaggle of people walked in, dressed in the local high school’s uniform. Roman sighed, “That’s my cue,” </p>
<p>He stood up and frowned, quickly patting his front and back pockets before pulling out a sharpie. He grabbed Virgil's arm, the other one yelped, blushing slightly at the contact. “I would do the cliche ‘write my number on a napkin’, but now I know if you don’t text me it’s because you don’t want to, which is okay too.” He capped his pen, “Message me about what you decide to do, if you want. Would love to see your art,” And with a flourish of his hand, Roman walked away to the counter to take the many orders of the teenagers. </p>
<p>Virgil looked down at the 9 numbers on his arm, swallowing thickly, feeling a bit sick, though it is not just from Roman’s number in bold, black ink. God, he was tired. </p>
<p>His body was not attached to his brain as he walked to the bus station, got off, and walked up to his studio, unlocking the door and banging his head against the wall (not too hard, though, these walls are so thin they might as well be made of rice paper). Virgil looked at the numbers on his arm, remembering what Roman said. </p>
<p>Virgil shrugged off his jacket and jeans,  throwing them on his ‘stuff’ chair and pulled on a pair of sweats, collapsing on his bed. He looked at his phone, the time reading 3:35pm. </p>
<p>“9 hours from now… That’s midnight. Is he mental?” Virgil muttered to himself. He attempted to pull himself out of bed to get started to study for his history of art final, but his body would just not cooperate. How long <em> has </em> it been since he has had a proper sleep. </p>
<p>If you have to think about it, it’s been too long… </p>
<p>That tomato soup and grilled cheese combination was beginning to make him sleepy. Virgil groaned, face-palming. He went on his phone and set an alarm for 6:00pm. </p>
<p>“Fine, a short nap,” He said to himself. He hit the lights and it took maybe two minutes before he was sleeping, dreaming of impression paintings and emerald eyes. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>***</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> this is Virgil.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> i didn’t end up sleeping for the 9 hours like you asked </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> i ended up sleeping for 13. </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> i hate you.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> And how do you feel, now? </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> ……….… </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> much better actually. you were right. after my coma i looked </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> back at my final and realised it was a lot better than I remembered.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> i even ended up finishing it.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> That is fantastic! I am soooo glad </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I could help. What did you end up doing? </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> Can you send me a picture?  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> oh uh </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> idk if that is a good idea </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> i don’t want you to think i am weird </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> Virgil.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I beta read my twin’s fanfiction.  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> I am so desensitized, I do not think I am allowed </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> to be weirded out.  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em> ok... </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em> img.cm/1029483 </em>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <b> <em>Incoming call (Roman- Monet’s)....</em> </b>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>****</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Virgil yelped when he saw the incoming call. He doesn’t like phone calls at the best of times, but especially not now, not after he showed Roman his final piece. Stupid, stupid, STUPID! He should have just said no, people don’t press about that kind of thing. But Roman is clearly a liar because he said he wouldn’t be weirded out and he is, and Virgil just met this guy and he already messed everything up, why does he have to be such a fucking weirdo all the time, goddamnit, everything is falling apart, Virgil may have gotten sleep but he can’t fix himself. He groaned and snatched up the phone on the last ring, attempting to put on his best, most positive voice. </p>
<p>“Hey, Roman, wha-what’s up… Bro?” </p>
<p>“Hello!” Roman answered the phone, not sounding angry or upset, which calmed Virgil a bit, “I apologize, I should have prefaced that I loved the painting. I understand why you might have been worried, but it is absolutely wonderful.” </p>
<p>“Really?” Virgil let out a breath, “I was really worried that-” </p>
<p>“Are you kidding?” Roman almost shouted through the phone, Virgil having to pull it away from his ear, “A profile of just my eyes surrounded by roses and irises, in the style of the impressionists, even though I know you hate that style,”</p>
<p>“I don’t <em> hate </em> it,” Virgil muttered. </p>
<p>“You ranted about Renoir, Degas, and Monet for longer than anyone I have ever met, and one of my closest friends is a curator at the art museum,” </p>
<p>Virgil sighed, “Yea, you’re right, they suck. Sorry about that…” </p>
<p>Roman laughed, “Ha, are you joking? That was the highlight of my day. But all that aside, how could you even fathom me<em> not </em> liking the piece? </p>
<p>“I mean,” Virgil rubbed the back of his neck, “I just met you yesterday, it’s not exactly something people do for someone when they do not even know their last name.” </p>
<p>“My last name is Perez, my middle name is Thomas, my twin brother is Remus who you met yesterday, I am left handed, my favorite food color is red, and I love attention, it’s why I have done theater for 20 years. Does that help?” </p>
<p>Virgil grumbled, “I guess it does,” </p>
<p>Roman laughed, “I love it, Virgil, trust me, it is now my phone background,” </p>
<p>Virgil’s heart swelled, “Really?” </p>
<p>“Really. Honestly after us talking for like, 45 minutes yesterday, I would have been more offended if I <em> wasn’t </em> your muse, I mean, what about mean isn’t inspirational?” Both Roman and Virgil laughed at that, “But I could have told you all this over text, I called because I don’t like texting to ask pretty boys out on dates,” </p>
<p>Virgil’s heart leapt into his throat, he felt as though someone dropped a ton of bricks on his chest. How was he supposed to respond to that? Roman first impression of him was a literal dead man walking and he still wants to go out with him?</p>
<p>“A date?” Virgil responded, still shocked. </p>
<p>“Unless the pride pin on your jacket was just as an ally, and you just spent hours painting my eyes in a straight way, I would like to, if you want,” Roman said simply. Before Virgil could respond, Roman started speaking again, “And don’t say no just because I saw you at your rock bottom, I can see where this is going,” </p>
<p>Virgil smacked his lips together, “You got me,”</p>
<p>“What do you say,” </p>
<p>Virgil smiled, genuinely, for the first time in a while, “Let’s do it,” </p>
<p>Virgil was only speechless for a full minute when Roman laid out an entire romantic picnic, scheduling it perfectly to watch a matinee Shakespeare in the Park production of <em> Much Ado About Nothing, </em> both of them happily munching on the brownies and sandwiches Roman had made that morning. Virgil only complained for 3 minutes when Roman wanted to take him to the art museum, the blushing lasted for 4 times that long when Roman confessed it was because he wanted to hear Virgil about the paintings, his voice being one of the most pleasant he has heard. When Roman grabbed Virgil by the waist, pulling him in for a kiss, Virgil responded with equal passion and emotion that Roman was, not even noticing they were in front of Monet’s <em> Irises.  </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope you all like, comments really make my day.<br/>Follow me on tumblr: thealphabetmurders</p></blockquote></div></div>
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